


if you let me

by dansunedisco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Headaches & Migraines, Modern Era, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Positive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9338063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: Sansa has a headache.Jon helps her out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> literally a self-indulgent pwp wherein "i have a headache" / "orgasms help" is the basic premise
> 
> :')
> 
> also -- this is probably the first fic i've written where sansa is very much sex positive/confident and it was SO LIBERATING good god.

Sansa couldn’t concentrate.

A headache had plagued her all day long. She’d already attempted all of her tried and tested remedies: a snack, ibuprofen, a cold pack on her forehead, a nap. She’d even wheedled Myranda into giving her a neck rub with the promise of a no questions asked loan of her wildly expensive Miu Miu dress. All, of course, to no avail… and no relief.

She had a major paper due in tomorrow, and all she had to her name was a nonsensical mishmash of thoughts she’d typed out while her head was throbbing. It was crap. She could barely _read_ and she knew it was crap -- and if she knew it, then there was no way Professor Baratheon was going to let it fly either, and she _needed_ the grade. A good grade.

She rubbed at her temples.

“What’s going on with you?” Jon asked.

She lifted her head. Jon was sitting at their cramped breakfast nook -- and for how long, she hadn’t the faintest clue; she hadn’t even realized he was _home._ Still, it wasn’t terribly surprising to find him in the living room one moment and gone the next. He was a grad student who worked odd hours at the library and off-campus bar, and it was actually rare to see him roaming the apartment Sansa shared with both him and Myranda during regular daylight hours. She had no idea how he kept up with it all: sleep and friends and schoolwork and plain old _work_ , but he did it. Sansa envied that of him.

“My head is killing me,” she said. “I’ve been pecking away at this stupid paper and it’s… not progressing.”

“Could you take the late hit?”

“Uh, no. It’s for _Selyse._ ”

He winced. “Still with that zero policy?”

“As always.” She sighed and clicked her laptop shut. There was no point in pretending like staring at the screen would do anything but make her headache worse. “Any pointers, oh great and wise one?”

“I’m only four years older than you.”

“Four years makes all the difference. A year in grad school is seven for the rest of us, right?” she teased. “Weren’t you lamenting your grays with Sam just last week?”

“This old dog won’t take your abuse much longer.”

She wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn’t have the energy. She waved her hand and sank further into the couch; _get on with it._

“Well,” Jon said, after a moment, “what have you tried so far?”

She listed them off, ticking her fingers up after each. “All avenues exhausted.”

“Not all,” Jon hedged, and then did something curious: he blushed.

Sansa lifted her eyebrows. “Oh?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it with a clack. He shook his head. “Nevermind. It’s -- no. Completely inappropriate. Can’t speak of it.”

“Just tell me.” There wasn’t much Jon could say that would scandalize her. Year four Sansa was a boss bitch, according to Margaery. And Sansa was inclined to agree. “It can’t be that bad.”

He made a big show of running his hands through his hair, delaying the inevitable. Inevitable, because Sansa knew Jon didn’t have a problem retreating to his room whenever he _really_ didn’t want to be bothered, and yet he was still here.

“You need an endorphin rush,” he said. “Or -- I mean, I heard that helps.”

“Like exercise?” The idea of running made her head throb.

“Like an orgasm.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, mostly because hearing Jon Snow awkwardly stumble over the word _orgasm_ was the best thing that had happened to her all week, and partly to keep him from running scared. She could see why he’d think talk of sex -- with her, specifically -- would be inappropriate or, more likely, plainly _weird_. She and Jon had known one another for years; since the day she was born, in fact. He’d seen her grow up from awkward teen to embarrassing teen and back to awkward adult. But they’d been living together for over a year now, and it wasn’t like either of them had been celibate the entire time. Sex was _normal._

And if it could cure her headache, well.

She bit her lip. “It would be supremely awkward if I just--” she waved vaguely, “--left to try your method, right?”

“Well. No.” He shifted in his seat. “Maybe a bit. If only because I’d know what you were doing, and _you’d_ know that I knew…”

“Would it help all parties if you were present?” And, okay: perhaps bluntly asking him to her bedroom was more straightforward than she would ever be on a normal day, but she was tired and, quite frankly, in a decent amount of pain. “You don’t have to,” she amended when Jon continued to look at her like she’d just _blown his mind_. “But if you want to, I’m into it.”

“We’re roommates,” he said, voice on just this side of strangled.

“Mm, yep. We sure are. If us living together is your only complaint...”

“I’m sure there are many more I can dredge up.”

“Fair enough.” She stood, and cursed inwardly; being upright _hurt._ “Just -- if you change your mind, it doesn’t have to mean anything. You know, between you and me.”

Which was kind of a nearsighted thing to say, Sansa realized. Sex didn’t always change relationships, but sometimes it could -- especially when two people had two decades and some change of history between them -- and promising zero entanglements wasn’t fair to either of them.

Jon stood after a long moment without calling her out on her bullshit and shuffled into her personal space. It was slightly unnerving, him looking into her eyes with steely determination; like he was trying to get her to chicken out or muster up the courage to kiss her.

She was more keen on the latter option if she was being honest, and she tipped her head back a fraction; a nonverbal _go ahead._

Jon did. The kiss was good, soft and sweet, and that heady rush of kissing someone for the first time tingled up Sansa’s spine and briefly cleared her head. She pulled away with a soft gasp, and immediately melted back into Jon’s arms.

They made out in the living room for a time, until soft and sweet turned into desperate and needy, and Sansa inched back to ask, “Do you want to take this to the bedroom?”

“ _God._ Yeah,” Jon replied and reached down to pick Sansa up under her thighs like it was the easiest solution to getting them to her room barely five feet away. He paused. “Is this okay?”

“You physically carrying me like some medieval northman?” She squeezed her legs around his hips. “More than okay.”

Jon set her down gently when they reached her bed, cradling the back of her head the entire way down. It was _sweet_ , and Sansa quickly kicked out of her sweatpants when Jon doubled back to shut and lock her bedroom door. When he turned around, she was in nothing but her underwear, and the soft choking noise he made looking at her made her preen. She looked more like a hot mess than a hot girl today; her hair was up in a messy bun, and she hadn’t bothered with makeup in days. Watching his breath come shallow and fast as his gaze raked up and down her body like he couldn’t help himself had her squirming in the best way.

“Come here,” she said, reaching for him.

He tugged shirt off before joining her; pressed a brief kiss to her mouth, her neck. “Can I go down on you?”

“ _Yes._ ”

He slipped down between her legs without hesitation, and she helped him tug her panties down over her hips. He wasted no time in licking a stripe against her cunt, a hot and slippery line that had her shuddering out a broken moan as her hips twitched up, chasing the feeling of something really, really good.

He pressed back against her with the flat of his tongue, and she twisted her fingers into his hair as he got to work -- to hold on, or to keep him where she wanted him, she didn’t know. The pace he set was slow and deliberate, licking and sucking her clit as she rocked up against him; teasing out bitten off moans and gasps when he slipped a finger inside of her. It didn’t take long at all for her orgasm to build, a tight warmth in her stomach that had her straining to just _reach it._ She crested over with Jon pumping his fingers steadily and lashing his tongue against her; when she finally came down, her headache had all but retreated to a mild ache at her temples and her body felt like it was floating.

“Feeling better?” Jon asked, voice huskier than she’d ever heard it.

She tugged him up to kiss him deeply, relishing in the taste of her against his lip. “Endorphins rule.”

He brought her off two more times with just his fingers, kissing her neck and breasts as she writhed and rocked down on him. Even with three orgasms under her belt, it still felt like a warm-up to the main event. When Jon finally sank into her, one hand holding her knee up while the other was planted firmly to the side of her head, she nearly sobbed from the feeling of being so full.

“Sansa,” Jon groaned, hips stuttering forward, and she answered by digging her fingers into the muscles of his back. He began to move, eyes screwing shut as a wave of slack-jawed pleasure crossed his face. That, coupled with the way his pelvis moved tightly against her clit, was almost enough to bring Sansa off a fourth time, but she focused on tilting her hips up and letting him chase his instead.

He finished soon enough and rolled off of her with a blustering, heavy sigh. “Endorphins rule,” he echoed after a moment, and Sansa had to laugh.

She stretched her arms above her head and arched her back. She felt _fantastic._ And a little tired. “I might take a nap,” she said. It sounded like a dismissal; maybe with anyone else, it would’ve been, but she rolled onto her side and tangled her legs with Jon’s instead. “You could stay... if you wanted to.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side. “A short one,” he agreed.

She sighed, content and lazy, and closed her eyes.


End file.
